Young and Beautiful
by rokkasen
Summary: Fighting kishin and saving the world is the easy part- it's turning 40 that might just be the end of Soul "Eater" Evans. [SoMa; M for some adult situations and language]
1. Young and Beautiful

**Young and Beautiful**

Soul squinted down at his iPad screen, blinking a couple of times before the letters unfuzzed and his Deathipedia article (which he was updating because damn it, some little punk bitch put that he was only a _two star_ weapon and that was grossly untrue) was legible again. His bad vision might have been a byproduct of the ungodly hour but he suspected that all of his wife's nagging about reading glasses was not unfounded. It chafed him to think about his body failing and aging- wasn't he sixteen only, like, five minutes ago?

He fondly remembered the days he could match Black*Star drink for drink and wake up without a hangover that put him out of commission for two days. Soul used to eat whatever he wanted and not have to worry about acid reflux. He missed the days his body wasn't a goddamn barometer, bones aching right before it rained. Soul's mind flitted back to an incident that occurred only two weeks prior when he took Maka out on "no kids" date and the waiter mistakenly asked him if he was having a nice time out with his daughter. Maka had choked on her drink with laughter as Soul growled and explained that no, he was having a nice time out with wife and fuck this guy, fuck him hard.

Damn Maka's adorable, eternal babyface.

He was editing the picture for his Deathipedia page (it wouldn't kill them to use one from his twenties, would it?) when he heard his wife tromp upstairs to their bedroom. It was late and she had been stuck at Shibusen for two days trying to scramble to put together a curriculum for the coming year and Soul knew she was going to be a in a Mood. After more than twenty years together, Soul, her faithful weapon, partner, and husband, knew what to do to get on her good list. He had had cooked dinner, cleaned the house, put the kids to bed, and made sure that the laundry was done so Maka would have her choice of warm pajamas.

Maka Albarn-Evans fell face first onto the bed, her moans of exhaustion muffled by their downy pillows. "I hate everything. Leave me here to die."

Soul put the iPad aside and rolled her over, methodically unbuttoning her shirt. "Bad day?"

She grunted and lifted herself slightly so Soul could pull the shirt away. He stood up to tug off her boots and leggings. "I would rather let Stein give me a gynecological exam than deal with bureaucracy for another five minutes. I'm just going to employ the Black*Star method of teaching and let all of the students beat each other up. Winner gets to become a three star meister."

"You've got my vote," Soul chuckled. "Move your legs so I can get your skirt."

Maka squirmed out of the offending garment, sighing with relief once she was free. "What were you up to tonight? Were you reading the iPad in the dark again? You know it's bad for your eyes."

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine."

She stretched her arm out and grabbed the iPad, curious to know what he had been reading, probably hoping to catch him watching porn. Soul squawked indignantly, trying to swipe it from her; changing your Deathipedia page on a Saturday night to vainly showcase your younger pictures was not cool. "Soul… this picture of you is over ten years old!"

He grumbled, cheeks bright red. "Don't laugh!" Maka just didn't understand. She still got ID'ed at bars. Soul's white hair threw people off, even when he was young, and he was sported some very serious white scruff on his face that used to have girls scrambling to be his partner but now only served to make him _look like Maka's dad_.

Maka kept looking down at the iPad, then back at Soul, and giggling. "Shut up. Stop laughing!"

She pulled him down on top of her, kissing his forehead gently. Soul tried to scowl but sweet, soft Maka kisses felt really nice so his scowl morphed into a ridiculous pout. "Are you still bothered by what happened when we went to dinner?"

"I thought we agreed never to speak of that again."

She ran her hands over his back soothingly. "Come on, you can't still be worrying about that. You're only thirty eight and you _don't_ look like my dad. We don't even look anything alike, for one."

"That's not the point," Soul buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I used to be the hot trophy husband," he sighed. "Now I look your sugar daddy, what the fuck."

"Oh, stop it, you're so hot," Maka rolled her eyes and lifted his face so she could attack his throat with kisses. They hadn't been alone like this in nearly two weeks, between work and home obligations and just being exhausted, and he missed her so much. He huffed out a groan when her tongue traced delicately along his Adam's apple. "The single moms are practically frothing at the mouth waiting for me to get killed on a mission so they can have a shot with you."

"Oh, yeah?" The compliments didn't hurt and neither did Maka's hands skimming up his t-shirt. "You think I'm hot?"

She snorted and tugged on his shirt, a sign that it needed to go. Soul had it off in record time- a good weapon always followed their meister's lead, after all, and he would follow her anywhere, especially if it ended in mind blowing married people sex. "So hot," Maka smiled against his collarbone. "Especially when you do the laundry… mmm…"

Soul grinned, biting his lip when her teeth found the sensitive junction between his neck and shoulder. "I did the laundry and cooked dinner tonight."

"Tell me more… describe it in detail…"

He propped himself up on one elbow and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. Eager hands roved over her stomach, fingertips tracing Maka's hipbones. "I baked chicken… and then I did all the dishes after…"

"Oh, baby," Maka moaned overdramatically as his fingers trailed up her ribs. "Did you use the dishwasher?"

"No, I did it by hand." He made quick work of her bra- thanks to years of practice- leaving her clad only in the sensibile cotton underwear that Soul was so fond of.

Maka fanned her face. "You always know just what I like."

Soul knew she was mostly joking but then again, this was the woman who got turned on by him in an apron and had requested he wear it on multiple occasions for domestic kitchen romps. Even after twenty years, he was still so smitten, so stupidly in love with her, he probably would have cosplayed as a fridge if that was what turned her on.

He settled comfortably between her legs, slowly lavishing her neck and throat with warm, open mouthed kisses. Maka groaned for real when sharp teeth scraped down towards a bare shoulder, tilting her head to give him more access. Her hands were impatient, trying to tug off his sweatpants and Soul laughed against her clavicle; some things never changed.

"Down girl," he whispered, the tip of his tongue dragging over her skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. "Patience is a virtue."

"I don't have that one," Maka all but growled, pressing herself to him. His hands traveled down her thighs, tucking neatly behind her knees. "It's been six hundred years since we had any time alone together."

"Twelve days, actually," Soul slid down to kiss her the valley of soft skin between her breasts, her sternum and stomach, paying extra attention to the multitude of scars that mapped her body. "Unless we're counting that quick grope session your office last week that got interrupted by Black*Star falling through the roof."

Sharp nails dug into his back and Soul hissed in pleasure. This woman was going to be the death of him. "We only have a couple of hours before the kids have to get up for school. Cut the snark and use that mouth for higher purposes, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

The loud scream from their daughter's room was an instant mood killer. Soul immediately vaulted out of bed, nearly knocking himself unconscious on the nightstand. "Fuck shit fuck fuck suck my-"

"Soul!" Maka hissed. She narrowed her eyes as she pulled on one of his t-shirts. "Can't sense anyone in the house. Maybe it's just a nightmare?"

Soul ran through the pain of his throbbing head wound, drawing adrenaline from some paternal place inside of him, and threw open the door to his daughter's bedroom. It was chaos- Melody's pink, frilly comforter had been hacked to bits. Laced edged pillows were lacerated and feathers covered the plush mauve rug. The canopy above her bed was lopsided because one of the support beams had been cut. "What-"

His twelve year old daughter was curled up on the edge of the destroyed bed, still in her white nightgown, long platinum blond hair braids limply hanging around her face, sobbing hysterically. Soul looked around for some invisible enemy, looked for damage to his precious offspring, but there was none. "Mel, what's wrong…?"

The words died in his throat when he caught sight of her arm- or what used to be her arm- transformed into a perfect, steel scythe blade.

"Oh." Mystery solved.

Maka was there seconds later with their younger child in tow. She flipped on the light and took in the damage. Soul was still frozen on the spot, unsure how to proceed. Melody continued to cry inconsolably and it only worsened when Maka appeared. She flailed her blade-arm around. "Mamaaaaaaaaaa! It feels so weird! Make it stop!"

Reid, nine years old and with all the tact as his mother, openly stared at the scythe arm. "That. Is. So. Cool. Dad, when do I get one of those?!"

Melody ran over to Maka and Maka managed to dodge getting stabbed on the stomach with the blade. "I thought the blades don't get sharp until you have better control of your powers?" Maka asked Soul, tucking Melody under her chin and patting her back. "Look at this room! This blade can do some serious damage."

"I'm sorrrryyyyy," Melody wailed and Maka shushed her gently.

"I don't know, mine was pretty sharp. Cut right through my slacks at a dinner party." Soul sighed. "Reason number six thousand why Wes is the favorite son."

Reid poked at his sister's blade. Maka slapped his hand away when it got too close to the blade. "Grandma says Uncle Wes is the favorite because you pick your teeth at the table and have a fresh mouth."

Soul sighed again, rubbing his throbbing temples. Everything was chaos. Reid alternated between almost slicing his fingers off on his older sister's too sharp blade and pestering Maka about when he would be able to transform because it wasn't fair. Maka was obviously very happy with another scythe in the family and taking this all very lightly, despite the destroyed room and their child crying hysterically. Melody tearfully wondered if she was going to have to sleep in the attic- or maybe at Grandpa Spirit's- because her room was unlivable.

Their family was so fucking weird, Soul thought, even by Death City standards.

"Mel, you're going to have to calm down if you want to transform back. Take a deep breath," Soul knelt down by her. "You're going to be okay."

"Of course she's going to be okay," Maka said, smoothing Melody's long bangs away from her face. "It's practically a rite of passage. You should be proud, Melly. You're just like Dad and Grandpa. You're going to be such a beautiful, amazing scythe."

"Scythe otaku," Soul muttered.

"Well if I wasn't, you'd still be alone and crying over your piano, _darling_ ," Maka said sweetly.

"Daaaaaaad, I want to be a scythe, too! This is SO unfair!"

"Am- am I going to have to live with Grandpa Spirit…? His girlfriends scare me…"

"Reid, go get my cellphone, please. I have to call Uncle Black*Star- he's going to die that our kid was the first to become a weapon."

Soul might have not have been as young as he once was and his family might have been absolutely batshit crazy and now they would have to deal with the fallout of having a sensitive, twelve year old girl turning into a magical weapon but if he could do it all again, he would do it exactly the same.

Maybe.


	2. Eye of the Beholder

**Eye of the Beholder**

Soul Evans, age 40, woke up with an aching hip and so many regrets.

He swung an arm out, hoping to get the attention of his wife to whine about said hip pain (maybe lovingly guilt her a little into some healing face smooches because this was the result of being in weapon form for too long), but Maka's side of the bed was suspiciously cold and Maka-less. It was his birthday and he was waking up to an empty bed and a bruised hip?

Forty was turning out to be a shit year already.

Hobbling out of bed, Soul slumped his way to the kitchen for some ice and coffee. He could hear Melody sounding out a difficult Chopin piece on the piano while his younger child, Reid, worked on his homework on the coffee table nearby.

"Morning," Soul yawned. "Where's Mom?"

Reid put his pencil down. He was the image of a younger Maka with his neat blond hair and serious Study-Mode expression. "Mom went running with Uncle Black*Star and said she had to do some errands. Breakfast's on the stove and she said you just have to heat up the coffee."

"Bless that woman." But how the hell could she be up and running after such a hard mission the night before? Maka and Soul had completed it in record time, wanting to get back home in time for Melody's piano recital. With her stage fright and performance anxiety, she would never step foot on stage without an infamous Maka Albarn pep talk.

The other parents looked at them a bit strangely when they burst through the doors of the little music school, clothes skewed, hair a mess, Maka sporting a very nasty cut on her cheek (but only for a moment before they realized oh yeah, this was the couple that tended to save their asses time and time again). Soul and Maka had all but collapsed on each other in relief at the realization that they had made it in time.

They had pushed way too hard and Soul was feeling like death while Maka was off running up mountains with a crazy ninja? She was only a couple of months younger than him. This wasn't _natural_.

Soul groaned loudly when he finally made it to the kitchen table, only to realize that he had completely bypassed the eggs and coffee. Fine. So this is how he would die. Starving and aching on his birthday, a shell of the man he used to be. Not death by Kishin, not even death by Maka-chop. No, he would just sit here and waste away because his body was failing him and Maka abandoned him to be healthy or what-the-fuck-ever.

His daughter crept to his side, holding out the piping hot breakfast and coffee. His son was at his other side, a bottle of painkillers in one hand and the ice pack on the other.

Bless his offspring.

"You've just cinched your places in the family will," Soul grimaced as he dry swallowed enough painkillers to tranquilize an elephant. "You're good kids. I'm fine, let me eat and then I'll meet you in the living room."

"Don't worry, Mel, I don't think that'll happen to you after missions," Soul overheard Reid loudly whisper to his older sister as they left the kitchen, "because you're only twelve and Dad's really, really, _old_."

"YOU'RE OUT OF THE WILL, REID!"

"Awwww, man!"

* * *

"So what's with all of… this?" Maka gestured to Soul. She had come back from running only to find her husband in front of the bedroom mirror, struggling to put on jeans so tight that they looked painted on.

He grunted and debated lying down on the bed to try and shoehorn himself into the jeans. "Just- fucking- trying to see if these old jeans fit."

"They do not."

"Are you going to stand there and judge me or are you going to help me?" Soul hissed. Goodbye, bloodflow to the heart, he thought, because these jeans were cutting off his circulation.

Maka craned her head to unabashedly check out his butt. "Judge, mostly."

"Thanks. Really great and supportive."

She laughed. "God, Soul, don't tell me you're having a midlife crisis." Maka sobered when she realized Soul was not laughing with her. "Oh my God… are you?"

Soul snorted. "Of course not. Don't be stupid."

Maka thought that the vintage skinny jeans and reintroduction of hair gel said differently, but smartly decided to keep her mouth shut. Like everything else with Soul, he would need to work through it at his own pace and her nagging him to open up would only result in a fight.

It would all blow over in a few days.

* * *

The next night at Soul's official birthday dinner, he was sporting a new motorcycle and his old leather jacket from their youth. Reid proclaimed that it was the coolest thing he had ever seen and Liz hissed at him not to encourage his father's weird behavior.

Okay, Maka thought. This had not blown over.

"What is this?" she asked, gesturing to him.

"What?" Soul parked his bike. "We talked about me getting a new bike once the kids were older. It's cold. My old jacket was in the back of the closet. Stop looking at me like I'm crazy."

"Soul, please." Maka rubbed her temples. She needed to be encouraging and validating but damn it, all she wanted to do was have a nice dinner with their family and friends. At least he didn't get an earring and a young girlfriend- all hope was not lost. "How did you get those jeans on?"

Only through a miracle and some serious lube could he have gotten the skinny jeans on. Soul only shrugged and walked, a bit painfully, Maka thought, off to meet their friends.

"Why're you wearing Maka's pants?" Maka heard Black*Star ask Soul. "They look like they're cutting off the circulation to your di-"

"BLACK*STAR, SHUSH THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT!"

* * *

"Don't sulk. You know kids say a lot of things they don't mean." Maka rubbed Soul's back soothingly. "You're not an outdated weapon. You're- you're vintage! You love vintage. It's all… hipster and cool."

Soul thunked his head against their kitchen table. "This is karma because I was such a little shit when I was a student. _Outdated_."

Maka continued to rub his back. "They were just kidding!"

Thunk thunk _thud_. "They're not wrong. I'm old and rusty."

"No!"

"Maka, I have _hip_ pain after missions."

She paused. "Okay, so you're not as young as you used to be. Neither am I! But you don't see me running around in a tiny plaid skirt trying to relive the past."

Soul picked his head up slowly. "Do you still have the skir-"

"Forget it, Soul."

He sighed. "My body is betraying me and it blows."

Maka ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing his bangs out of his face. "Not many weapons and meisters even get to make it to their forties. It's proof that we're a great team. You should be proud."

"Augh… stop trying to logic me, I'm trying to brood here," Soul grumbled.

She tugged him out of the chair and towards their bedroom. "I know a way to cheer you up."

Soul raised his eyebrows but let himself get dragged. "I'm listening."

"The kids are out and we have the house all to ourselves."

"You have my full attention…"

Maka pushed him onto their bed and Soul fell back with no resistance. "Strength training."

Soul grinned. "Lead the way, my dear Meister."

* * *

Gasping and slamming his hand down on the bed, Soul struggled to force air through his lungs. "Uncle! _Uncle_. I admit defeat and am tapping out." He finally caught his breath and rolled onto his side to squint at Maka. "Jesus fucking Christ, woman, how do you have so much energy?"

Maka handed him a bottle of water that was conveniently waiting on the dresser next to her. "Because unlike you, I actually work out."

He chugged the water down and coughed. "We went three rounds. I think that's pretty good for a 40 year old."

"Four rounds."

" _Ha_?"

Maka patted his arm gently and kissed his cheek lovingly. "Fifteen minute break and then we're on to round four. Time to rebuild your stamina, Death Scythe."

"You're going to kill me someday," Soul started stretching to warm up for the next round, "but this is the way I want to go."

* * *

Soul laid on the couch, a ice pack on each hip. Maka's "training" had been a million times more stimulating than a mission and he couldn't wipe the stupid grin off of his face. They had officially retired his skinny jeans and childhood headbands and Soul was ready to accept 40 gracefully and without regret.

He heard Reid noisily announce that he was home from school and Soul sat up, tossing the ice packs behind the couch. If nothing else, Soul didn't want his own son to think that he was some washed up loser.

"Dad," Reid blinked innocently, "Uncle Black*Star said you're having a nervous breakdown. What's that?"

Soul groaned. "I am NOT having a nervous breakdown! Tell your Uncle Black*Star he can-" Soul imagined Maka's reaction to him teaching Reid the phrase _go fuck yourself._ "- he can shut up."

Reid looked him up and down, thoughtful, so much like his mother. "Mom said you're sad about turning forty."

"Kind of. It's an adult thing. You'll understand when you're older."

"I think you're cool, Dad," Reid said, throwing his book bag down on the living room floor. "You're always protecting Mom."

Soul grabbed Reid and forced him into an aggressive hug, messing up his mop of dirty blond hair to hide the onslaught of emotions. Reid laughed and pretended to struggle, yelping for Maka or Melody to come help him. "You're back in the will, kid."

"Yay!"


End file.
